white garment down by the side of the tree, where it was afterwards found, and then she fastened the child securely into its frightful prison by tying the rope around its body and passing it also round the tree. It is supposed that the infuriated ants attacked the child instantly, and that their sharp stings overcame her fear and dread of her mother so much, that she probably screamed, and Clara may have thought her victim's cries would be heard, for she made a gag of leaves, and securely stuffed Emmy's little mouth with them. She then went away, to lead her usual idle, easy life, leaving the miserable Ichild to what she must have known would be a certain, though slow and agonising, death. The sounds Jessie and I heard were Emmy's stifled wails. Oh, the poor little creature! I cannot bear to think of what she must have endured, although so many years have passed since then; but I have a vivid recollection of the pain which I have often felt from one nip given by the strong pincers a large black ant carries in front of him. Fancy being devoured

by thousands of such cruel bites! and yet that was Emmy's fate, the punishment for a babyish error.

Her little skeleton was not found for two or three days as you know; the man who went to look for the reaping-hook he had lost made this awful discovery; every scrap of flesh had been eaten off the child's bones; and if they had been bleaching there for a century, they could not have been cleaner or whiter. Clara did not attempt to deny what she had done; perhaps she had the sense to know any such denial would have been useless. She had been seen to enter the grass-piece leading the sobbing baby, and its poor little shirt lying at the foot of the tree, with the smears of the sugar still on it, would have risen up in witness against the Savage mother. Her trial was a short one, and I can hardly describe to you the state of excitement everyone was in whilst it lasted. She was hung early one morning, and I think I may safely say that no criminal in the world was ever greeted on the scaffold with such yells of execration. The

whole population of the town, and of all the surrounding country assembled in the great open space where the gallows-tree was planted; and I am told that there was but one feeling expressed by every black or coloured person present, that no punishment was too heavy for such deliberate cruelty. Clara met her death quite bravely, and never expressed the least sorrow for her crime. The same spirit of sullen defiance, which she had so often indulged in during happier times, stood her instead of resignation or courage at this terrible moment. Her wickedness was the more remarkable, as the negro women make the most affectionate and devoted nurses, both to children and sick people. They are very clever in this capacity, and as kindhearted as clever; so it is no wonder that every negress in the island cried out in horror and indignation against Clara.

THE GRAVE BY THE RAKAIA.

I AM afraid this will not be a very merry story; but I find that children sometimes like to hear a sad tale, and they will certainly learn as they grow older, that life is not all fun and laughter. It is full of stories as sad and as true as this; but the bravest men have often the tenderest hearts, and so, perhaps, the boldest and gayest of my little friends may be touched by a tale of suffering and death.

One lovely spring morning in New Zealand I went out for a ride with my husband: he wanted to look at what is called there an out-station,' that

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is, a hut far away from the homestead, and from all the bustle and life which surrounds the wool

sheds, sheep-yards, and accessories of a prosperous settler's new home in that new world. We left behind us the paddocks of English grass and clover, the patches of oats for the horses, my own little pet acre of wheat, grown expressly for my numerous fowls and pigeons, the garden sloping down to the creek, the young plantations whose growth we watched so anxiously, and whose enemy, the strong north-west wind, was on this balmy morning slumbering peacefully in his cave far away among the mountains. Going out for a ride in England is a very different affair from a New Zealand excursion. Here, you have only to coax papa to give the order to the groom, and then it is all settled; you mount quietly and set off (quietly also, I hope, though I rather doubt it). There, the first thing necessary was to catch the horses. Sometimes they were out on the run, and it took a man with a great stockwhip a long time to get them in: then they had to be brushed and cleaned, and at last the saddles were put on, and we started. I had the usual bag fastened to